So, I’m reading Michael Palin’s Diaries, 1969-1979, The Python Years. It’s an enjoyable read. I like how he maintains a diary. I’m sure things were edited before publication, things were tidied up, etc.

For me it’s not a book you read from start to finish, just jump in here and there. I jump from 1974 and read that. Then it’s 1979 or 1969. The stories about making Monty Python and the Holy Grail are informative and the struggles to get the Life of Brian off the ground are even more so. I’m sure my method of reading the book is not what they had in mind, but they have their way and I have mine.

I’m not too sure if Michael Palin wrote every day since it does skip some days of the week occasionally. I try to write every day but dropped the ball twice this week. It’s been an odd week, in any event. Plus there is an index to Michael Palin’s Diaries should I need to look up something that was mentioned earlier, at another time.

So far the only person that I know that is reading this is Bill and I don’t think it’s on a regular basis.

This is the part where YOU, the ever so sophisticated reader steps up and says, “I read this blog which is beneath my delicate sophistication!”

You don’t need to write about how this here blog is beneath you. I already took care of that for you. Feel free to come up with something on your own! I won’t judge.

Bill is on his way home from Lambertville, just across the Delaware River from New Hope, PA where an old reader of the previous incarnation, Harpy, lived at some point in his illustrious life. I last spoke to Harpy for about a minute a few months ago.

I think it was around his birthday. Harpy and I used to speak often but not so much anymore. The last call had Harpy as even more cantankerous as before, railing about the narcissism of the social medias.

He was a willing participant at some time but now shows up like a groundhog on February 2. And who doesn’t love groundhogs? Or at least, the Bill Murray movie, Groundhog Day, everyone loves that one.

Now this is where HARPY, the cantankerous reader of yore, steps up and says “I hated Groundhog Day!”

Oh, the world would be so much better if everyone did what I wanted them to do.

Now I type, Keri Russell is The Diplomat on Netflix. It’s the first episode and it seems pretty good. At least from what I hear since my eyes are mainly on the keyboard in front of me with the TV more like a radio.

Bill is on his way home after a delayed train and is now back in Hoboken. He’s on the bus. Those who know will get that reference.

And by those who know, I mean YOU, my dearest literate friends.

I hope to see you tomorrow.

I did not write last night, it completely slipped my mind. So much going on in the world and though I was sitting in front of the computer keyboard, I opted for distraction. Bill was home but in a funk. I think it was because he saw what I looked at online. Hot men.

No one nearby, no threat but still I think it bothered him. I’d like to think if I saw what he looked at and liked I wouldn’t be bothered or threatened and would probably make a joke about it. But I don’t know. I love him too much to throw it all away.

My friend Daisy. She’s a sweetheart, a genuinely nice person. I’ve known her for years and we look out for each other. She has a son that she raises by herself. She has a good job and works with neurotic Filipinos. She has my sympathy.

Daisy and I have been in contact this past week. She knows what happened to me at work and worries so much about me that she prays. She tells me her god will take care of the situation. I was quiet about that. She maintains a childlike belief in a higher power.

One of those ‘god only gives us what we can handle’ types. Try telling that to parents who have lost a child. Or a baby born with its organs in the wrong place. Daisy trusts her god in everything. I keep my mouth shut as she sends me emojis of hands clasped in prayer.

Bill and I have discussed this a few times. He was once of that belief. I can’t say that I was. Maybe it’s because I was raised catholic and went to catholic schools and catholics just don’t think like that, that’s why they have a pope. Perhaps it’s a protestant thing.

I do think that Daisy was influenced in voting this season by her pastor who more than likely directed the congregation to vote for L’Orange Merde. I tried to dissuade her of that. Daisy is an immigrant and L’Orange Merde’s scumbag staff have expressed a desire to deport aliens both legal and undocumented.

Her childlike belief will see her through. She is sweet and means no harm to anyone, and she probably prays that I will be delivered from my homosexuality though she would never come out and say that.

She does work for that notorious liar S. Khan who is more than likely a con. Yes, that rough beast has been written about on this here blog numerous times but now I don’t care. He’s an impotent balding thing.

Shahabudeen Khan probably voted for L’Orange Merde being an immigrant from Guyana who happens to be muslim. He is actually stupid enough to do something like that. I don’t care, he’s a fat fuck and if I ever saw it again it would be too soon.

I’m not bitter, I just don’t give a flying fuck if that turd once known as Schlomo the DKB knows about it.
Khan expected a medal for each time he told me he loved reggae and never ever got high. I didn’t know how to tell it that there were no medals for being pathetic.